Reunion of the Three Dragons
by Jiaory
Summary: After the War for the Dawn, two of the three Heads of the Dragon begin a glorious new era of Targaryen rule. The third Head, the Prince That Was Promised, takes his dragon and flies north of the Wall, and stays north for fifteen years... Until his family decides to come knocking. One-shot in two parts.
1. Part 1

**A/N: I had to write this. I've been reading so many amazing post-canon AUish stories recently I had to take my own spin on it. For everyone following King Snow, sorry about the delay! I'll get right back to cracking out chapters until KS is done. Until then, enjoy!**

His eyes snapped open. Viserion alerted him through their bond of who was approaching, the way a dragon understood the world- the smell of smoke, a bestial sense of familiarity, a flash of memory, some sight seen through a great reptilian eye in years past. For it had indeed been years since they had last met with this particular guest. And as always, Jon felt the twinge of pain his dragon felt, the old wound where the Night King had shorn off one of Viserion's horns. His ever faithful companion and their multitude of little feathered friends corroborated with their keen senses what the dragon felt deep down in its bones.

He let out a short sigh, and braced himself for what was to come. And the morning had started out so beautiful too. A shame. He closed his eyes again and waited.

* * *

She dismounted from Drogon, patting him on the side of his great head, scratching at a patch of leathery skin revealed in the gap between two massive obsidian scales. With both feet planted firmly in the light layer of northern summer snow, she set off to her destination ahead with a brisk pace. The rumbling steps and then blast of wind she felt behind her signaled that Drogon had taken wing again, presumably to circle the cloudless sky above.

He let out a great screeching roar, a call of greeting.

Daenerys felt a shiver go down her spine when the expected answering call did not happen. She strode into the small grove of trees, diving suddenly from the bright morning day into gloomy half-night, the copse thick with ancient oak and yew, leaves well obscuring the sunlight.

She walked for what must have been a few minutes, and what felt like an eternity. Eventually, she reached the center of the grove, what should have been the darkest part of it, covered by the canopy of it's greatest tree. Instead, she came back out under the clear sky, blinking away the sudden brightness of the harsh northern sun.

She paused to take in the sight.

A clearing in the middle of the old woods, snow and a light leaf litter the carpeting for this wildlands mimicry of an open courtyard. The center of the clearing was a great white expanse of wood, a circular platform of it raised a foot or so off the ground. Daenerys suddenly recognized it as the stump of a weirwood tree, the trunk of which must have reached into the sky before it was felled, judging from the size of what remained. And sitting in its center a figure of man, clad in a woolen jerkin and furs. For a moment the clearing was a silent and still. There was no sounds of animals. The northern wind, so famous for its incessant howling, made not even a whisper. Daenerys could have sworn she had walked into a painting.

Then, she took a single step forth, and her boot crunch on the dry snow underfoot. The sudden sound broke the spell of the scene, like some deep breath held in, suddenly exhaled.

A storm of black wings and whirling jet feathers, shrieking caws all around her, Daenerys startled and let out a small yelp as the disturbance blasted past her and then into the open sky above.

 _Crows._ She realized, as she could now see their avian shapes winging away into the air. A veritable swarm of them had been perched on the boughs of the trees all around her not a moment ago.

"Quite rude of you, to surprise my little aides like so." a voice cut through her thoughts, a deep northern brogue, roughened even further by years of warfare and command- and all the yelling and screaming that came from both.

"You forget my title." Daenerys snapped out, then suddenly widened her eyes in horror. She had still not recovered from the sudden shock of the birds, added onto her already anxious mood; for a moment she had forgotten who she was here to speak with. The scathing remark just slipped out from long years of dealing with unruly lords who held minimal respect for a female liege.

"My apologizes-" she rushed to correct herself. He cut her off with a laugh.

"Do not. You are in the right here, my Queen. I had forgotten that I am still a subject of the realm. Too much time spent with the Free Folk, I reckon. You must forgive me, Your Grace."

She approached the massive weirwood stump. The moment still seemed surreal. It had been so long since they had last spoken. "There is nothing to forgive, my Prince."

He patted the pale wood in front of him.

"Please, come up and sit with me."

Daenerys lifted the hem of her heavy winter riding coat, and gingerly stepped up onto the weirwood stump. She noticed that set before the seated man was a small tin plate, commonly used by travelers, and on it a brown chunk of barley bread and sprinkling of salt. Her host- for now he claims the title of host of this woodlands court- gestured towards it.

"There is no need for this, I still hold trust in you. And beyond that, we are family." she appealed.

He looked up and fixed with a grim expression of determination, she recognized that same look from a thousand times in her memory and felt rush of nostalgia. Gods above, Daenerys suddenly realized that she had missed seeing it dearly.

"The world may now call me Jaehaerys Targaryen, Prince in the North, but in my heart of hearts I am Jon Snow, son of Lyanna Stark. And the blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks. I offer you guest rites because it is the Old Way, the way of my people. Take it, my Queen."

Daenerys bit her lip and swallowed back her rebuttal before levering herself down into a seated position. The little tin plate sat between her and the Prince, so much weight for so small a piece of humble barley bread. She let out a thin sigh and acqueised by leaning over to grab the chunk of bread, dipping it in the salt briefly before taking a bite out of it. She made a moue of annoyance, pouting through the chewing action, before swallowing the rough fare.

"Happy yet Jon?"

"Very much so Dany." he answered, a mouth stretched in a rare grin. He suddenly nodded his head at something behind her. "See who's come to greet you."

She turned around in time to see a white blur before she was bowled over, smothered in thick fur the color of freshly fallen snow. "Ghost! Get off me you great lump!"

Daenerys eventually fought him off and the beast touched his wet nose to her cheek before slinking around the alabaster wood to settle behind his master. She stared at the direwolf in mute awe. Ghost must be of a size with a full-grown bull moose, he barely fit on the massive weirwood stump. "Jon, how?"

"Aye, Sansa asked much the same last time she saw Ghost. The True North is a good place for great beasts- magic rings strong here, he might still be growing. Soon he's going to be feeding on bears." Jon replied, giving Ghost an affectionate pat on his broad hindquarters.

He proffered a wineskin to wash down the bread, and she as she took it from him she made a face at it. "Is this full of that damned awful northern mead?"

"Only the best for her royal highness, the Mother of Dragons." Jon leaned back onto Ghosts great shaggy flank, basking in the warmth of the summer sun as morning turned towards noon.

Daenerys watched him for a moment, before wondering aloud. "Why here Jon? The fallen remain of a weirwood tree so far beyond the Wall. Does this place hold some greater connection to your Old Gods that I know not of?"

Jon made a humming noise in the back of his throat, before sitting up to answer. "The wood is surprisingly good at holding heat from sunlight. Keeps my behind warm. But I like your reason better."

They stared at each other for a second, and then both burst out laughing. Their sudden levity rang out in the woodlands, prompting offending caws from the few crows that had returned to roost.

Daenerys wiped tears of merriment away from her eyes with the sleeve of her coat, and as she sat there finishing the tough barley bread and sipping at the sweet honey mead, Jon across from her relaxing on the bulk of a snoozing direwolf, the decade and a half that had separated them seemed to melt away. Gods, they had still been barely out of childhood last time they spoke.

Just as before, the illusion didn't last long. Daenerys spoke of dragons. "Tell me, Jon. How is Viserion? He didn't greet Drogon, and it has been so long since he's last seen his brother. Just as it has been long since I have seen my son."

Jon's expression made no change, but the mood shifted abruptly. The the little forest clearing seemed to grow colder. "Viserion is fine. He eats well. I give him free reign to fly, probably off in the Frostfangs at this very moment, hunting those poor mountain goats."

She kneads at the cloth over her legs. "That is good news." Jon makes a noncommittal hum, and Daenerys knows he suspects her. She continues regardless.

"There has been rumors in the capitol. Smallfolk spotted a dragon flying over the Gift, claimed it to be the size of a castle."

Jon waved her off lazily. "Those rumors are nothing new. Farmers always think they've spotted Viserion in the night sky. They mistake him for clouds. Last time he was the size of the Wall, and the time before that he was big as the moon." he laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Jon had always been awful at lying. "I told you, he eats well. The True North is a good place for a dragon."

Daenerys fixed him with a look. "Jon. The King dispatched a task force from the Citadel to investigate. A dragon expert, some prodigy named Maester Marwyn, tracked and sighted Viserion for months. Even found and measured his stool. He claims that the White Dragon is now bigger than Balerion the Black, maybe even larger by half."

Jon remained singularly uninterested, gazing up at the sky. Daenerys hesitated but a moment.

"The court caught word and spread the news like wildfire. It's bad enough that only two of the three remaining dragons serve the Throne, now that they think Viserion dwarfs his brothers, the King is under heavy pressure to bring you to court to make show your allegiance."

"He is the King, and Rider to Rhaegal besides. Surely he isn't threatened by a flock of nobles." replied Jon. Daenerys found her patience wearing thin.

"You don't quite understand Jon, you've only ever set foot in King's Landing once, and barely even stayed a day. The court whispers incessantly behind the King's back, endlessly comparing him to the legendary Prince That Was Promised. They have grown bold now that they believe you own a dragon greater than the Conqueror's." Daenerys dropped her gaze down, her voice to a whisper. "He resents you for that Jon. He hates you not just for the troubles you cause his rule, but because he feels you spurn us with your absence." The silence stretched between them, and all throughout the little glade.

She lifted her head up and found Jon staring at her with those piercing Stark eyes, grey like clouds heralding storm, grey like steel. "Tell me, Queen Daenerys, what reason you have to fly so far north and visit me for. I'm surprised the King allowed you to leave court for so long as to travel beyond the Wall."

Daenerys drew herself in sudden anger. "The King does not _allow_ me anything. He does not command me, and he knows as well as I that I am the best option to-" she quickly calmed herself and gripped the thick cloth of her coat. "Don't try to rile me up, my Prince."

Jon nodded a silent apology. Daenerys sighed and relaxed her hands, preparing herself for her next words. "Jon, we want you to come south. To the capitol. You don't have to hold any position in court besides being representative of the North, and there is little to no responsibility in that, seeing as it's the most independent Kingdom from the crown."

Jon frowned. "You didn't have to fly up here to know my answer to that."

Daenerys had to try. "We just want you to be with family again, Jon. Sansa has her whole brood in Winterfell now, and I know she's brought the older ones to visit you. But in Kings Landing, there's a whole castle full of nieces and nephews you've never even met. Soon, you'll be a grand-uncle, and pregnant Rhaenyra has never even set eyes on you once." Jon dropped his gaze and started to turn away, but Daenerys would have none of it.

"Jon! Look at me!" he paused, but turned back to meet her eyes. "Your oldest niece grew up with a legend for an uncle. Azor Ahai, the Prince That Was Promised, Winter Dragon, the White Wolf, he who won the War for the Dawn. But she'll be a mother before you've even greeted her once. I can't help that she resents you. The younger ones don't even believe you exist."

"Daenerys, stop."

She leaned over to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Then come back with me. Come home." She left her palm there, lightly, lingering.

 _How long since Jon has felt the touch of another person? Sansa and I exchange ravens regularly, I know she's only been able to make the trip this far north twice. How many years has it been since Jon has known human affection?_

Jon swallowed thickly, put his hand over hers for a moment, squeezed her small and delicate fingers with his calloused palm. Then, he slowly extracted her touch from his shoulder, firmly placing it back onto her lap. The motion seemed to take gargantuan effort.

"Winterfell is my home. And I cannot return even there, for I must remain in the True North, to guard the realms of men." Jon spoke unflinchingly, despite the emotion that tinged his voice.

Daenerys felt her fury return as fast as she had banished it. Dragon-blood never responded well to refusals, one of the great blessings and even greater failings of her family line.

"To guard the realms of men? Guard them from what Jon? We defeated the Night King, we threw back his army! Viserion lost a horn so you could bring down that creature. The War for the Dawn is won, winter is ended, and yet you still sit here, rotting on your stump!" she was surprised to find herself standing over him at the end of her tirade, face flushed, breasts heaving.

Tears in her eyes.

He rejected her touch. That had cut her more deeply than she could ever have imagined.

Jon remained seated, tilting his head to meet her eyes, his expression carved from stone.

"Not all the Others were destroyed, not all fell along with the Great Other, and not all of them awoke from their frozen slumber to march south with it. Winter is always coming, Winter will return. I must be here to meet it." Jon bowed his head. "Your Grace."

"You are delusional." She whispered, eyes wide. But soon shock was replaced by mounting anger. "You see enemies in the whirling of snowflakes. You sit here and waste away claiming some great _duty_ , when the simple truth is that you're determined to mourn for your wildling women until the day you can go meet them in the next life. Which one is it? The redhead? Or the blonde one, V-"

Suddenly she was stumbling backwards, falling, caught only by the iron grip of the fist wrapped around her upper arm, Jon's face filled her vision, rage and grief fighting a civil war across his features.

"Do not. Do not _dare_ speak her name." a low rumble filled the air as Ghost echoed his master's growl.

Daenerys simply stared up at him, their faces inches from each other, tears that had been welling up in her violet eyes now spilling freely in rivulets down her cheeks. And all ran across her mind in that moment was how glad she was- for he was willing to touch her again.

"You will remove your hand from my Queen, brother." called out a third voice.


	2. Part 2

"You will remove your hand from my Queen, brother." called out a third voice.

Daenerys felt Jon comply, and she turned around in sudden astonishment. Above in the clear blue skies, a winged shape in green circled with his brother. Rhaegal hadn't announced his arrival, because his Rider- the finest in all of Westeros- had commanded him not to.

He approached them now crossing the snowy clearing, briskly leaping up onto the weirwood platform.

Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Her husband.

He was a vision in royal black and red, looking unruffled despite what must have been a long flight from the crownlands. His long hair shined Targaryen silver, and he wore a cheery grin on his face.

The smile didn't touch his eyes. Aegon's dark purple orbs were locked onto Jon like a hunting hawk on forest game. He carried a long canvas satchel strapped over his shoulder, and strode confidently across the rest of the ivory stump to stand slightly offset Daenerys, facing the both of them.

Jon offered a small bow. "Your Grace." Aegon waved him off dismissively. The motion was so alike what Jon had done minutes earlier it was almost eerie to see.

"Don't start that title-spouting dung with me, Jaehaerys. I've been here long enough to know that you don't mean a single syllable of honorific spilling out your mouth. You will call me by name as you have been calling my lovely Queen by name, and I shall do the same for you- we are family, after all."

Jon's mouth curved into a grim smile that was not a smile. "As you wish, Aegon. But I must tell you that I go by Jon, the name given to me by my late Lord Father."

"Ah, but Jaehaerys _is_ the name our late Lord Father gave you." Aegon's smile was just as grim, and degrees more wicked.

Jon strived to remain unaffected. His face was a mask of calm as he replied.

"Eddard Stark of Winterfell is the man who raised me. He is my Lord Father, now and always."

"Yes, I do remember how proudly you cling to your northern heritage. It's good to see that hasn't changed in all these years- which reminds me."

The King swung the bundle he had been carrying over his shoulder and deftly unwrapped it to reveal two forms. He tossed one straight at Jon, who caught it with one hand without even moving his gaze.

But of course he didn't need to, thought Daenerys, when she saw what Jon held in his hand. A sword. _His_ sword. Jon had never held anything in his hand as easily as he did that blade.

"Longclaw." spoke Aegon. "Though hardly anyone uses its true name these days. _Lightbringer!_ They call out, Lightbringer, the sword of heroes! The Mormont family sword, more famous than even Blackfyre" he motioned to the other Valyrian sword that he had been carrying in the bundle. "My ancestors would weep." he chuckled joylessly.

"You took Longclaw from Bear Island?" Jon asked, a note of danger in his tone.

Aegon snorted. "Not what you think, little brother. I didn't so much as sneeze on Lady Mormont's little head, though from her glares I expect she'll try to tear mine off. They had to hand the sword over to me, I'm their King. Besides, when I announced that I was bringing the blade to its rightful wielder I got the full backing of the pilgrims. They had to allow me to take it."

"Pilgrims?" Jon raised an eyebrow in puzzlement.

Aegon grinned. "Oh, you haven't heard? The followers of R'hllor flock to Bear Island now, any of the truly faithful undergo the holy pilgrimage to the North to pray before the Lightbringer. They were queueing up for hours every day just to catch a glance of your sword sitting in a locked glass case. I heard the First Sword of Braavos offered fifty-thousand dragons just to hold it for a moment, and little Lady Lyanna booted him off the island for the 'insult'. That woman is a spitfyre."

Jon smiled at some memory prompted from that line. Aegon snapped him out of it with the sibilant hiss of steel on leather, as he drew Blackfyre.

"Come now, Jaehaerys. Enough talk about your mythical weapon. Now that it's in your hands again, what do you say to a little brotherly spar?" Aegon's dark eyes were full of mirth and something more. Jon didn't deign to answer, he was lost in examining the sword that he had swung since he was a boy. The sword that slew the Night King. The sword he gave back House Mormont when he returned from the final battle.

Aegon looked ready to carve him up. "You never really did answer the Queen's question, brother mine. Where are you hiding one-horn the White?"

Jon shrugged. "I answered fairly. The Frostfangs are his favorite haunt, he's probably there. Viserion does like to sleep amidst the rock and the snow."

Aegon shrugged right back. "I supposed I can always find out after I get a few good licks in during our duel."

"Aegon! Enough." Daenerys interjected. This is terrible, she thought. This is situation is spiralling away from her. "What are you doing here!? We discussed this in the throne room, I would travel north _alone._ " Aegon pursed his lips at her before letting out a carefree laugh, sheathing his sword in the same motion.

"Sweet Daenerys, but I have kept my word! We have traveled separately did we not? I didn't see Drogon on the horizon my entire journey till now. And I couldn't have possibly left my dear wife to face the fearsome White Wolf all alone." As he spoke, Aegon stepped towards her, placing warm hands onto her petite hips and drawing Daenerys into his chest. The Dragon King was the broadest and tallest of their illustrious generation of Targaryens, and she felt tiny pressed against him. He put a gloved hand on her chin, and leaned down.

She slapped him, hard.

Aegon took two lengthy strides back and rubbed at his rapidly reddening cheek. He let out a humourless chuckle as he turned back towards Jon.

"Our lovely aunt does despise my affections. Although I suspect it's more prominent because of present company, brother."

Jon might as well have been one of the statues that filled the ancestral crypt beneath Winterfell.

Aegon cocked his head examining his brother, again so reminiscent an action, and a genuine smile lit up his handsome Valyrian features.

"Oh Jae, you have no idea do you? The rumored Stark lack of guile is indeed true."

"Aegon." she shot at him.

"Beautiful aunt Daenerys left out herself when she talked about how enamored the capitol is with the legend of the Hero of Dawn, Jon of Houses _Snow,_ and _Stark,_ and _Targaryen._ Truth is, she's quite taken with the stories the bards sing of you."

" _Aegon."_ her voice took on a dangerous pitch. Aegon paid her no mind.

"Yes, there is a rather unambiguous reason that comely Queen will not grace my bed with her presence, nor share in my affection for her. It's because she's _quite_ in l-"

" _ **Aegon.**_ " she spoke, with the full force of a Conqueror Queen. Aegon quieted, sending a sheepish grin in her direction before waggling his eyebrows at Jon.

Jon, who watched the two of them with an expression caught somewhere between confusion, bemusement, and infuriation.

They made quite a sight, the three of them. The Last Targaryens, people had called them, even if the epithet was no longer true. She and Aegon in rich riding outfits, suited for royalty, both with beautiful, silvery, classical Valyrian looks. Jon their dark mirror, dressed in savage rags and furs, his father's pretty features set into the long Stark face, with jet black locks and a thick northern beard. And he, the greatest of them. The song of ice and fire.

The Mad Prince Rhaegar's legacy, his sons and youngest sister forming the prophesied Three Heads of the Dragon.

She broke out of her reverie when she caught the look on Jon's face. He was staring at her, and some unknown expression was filling up his grey eyes.

"You… You don't sleep with him?" Daenerys shook her head slowly, mute. "Daenerys. Dany. When you said I had family in the south- Targaryen nephews and nieces, I had thought you meant you had…" he took a step towards her. She did the same as she replied.

"No. Jon, not mine. _This_ hasn't changed." she rubbed at her lower belly. "I can bear nothing in my womb. The dragons will be my only children."

Jon looked aghast. "The maesters, they examined you after the final battle at the Fist, I remember. They had said you were healing."

Daenerys smiled a small, sad smile. "They were wrong."

Jon took another tentative step towards her, like she was an injured bird, or one of the small woodland creatures that lived in his grove. He reached out with his hands, glacially slow, and grabbed her smaller palms in his.

He was so warm. How could he be so warm in this freezing wasteland? Despite his furs, she could see that his clothing was poorly made and offered much less protection than the finer coats she and Aegon wore. She looked up into his eyes and now, could read those emotions swimming within.

Sadness. Sympathy. Grief, for her, for what he knew she had lost. Hope, for her future, and for his. And a tiny, glittering, glimmer of joy.

Aegon's cold voice rang out like the bells in the Red Keep.

"She's tells no lies, dearest brother wolf. All the children are from my seed, spent between the legs of royal consorts, born from unions with Tyrell and Martell, or otherwise get from highborn ladies. Probably more than a few dragonseeds running around the town proper too, with how much I love to indulge in women of low birth. Puts a new spin on the phrase 'King most beloved' wouldn't you say?" He paused to let a sardonic huff escape him. "But no children from Daenerys."

"Aegon, do not speak of my-"

This time, it was her husband that cut her off with draconic fury. "No children from Daenerys, but not from lack of trying." Jon looked up at that. "Oh yes, our sweet little aunt was a dutiful Queen after we first wed- some of that Stark honor must of rubbed off on her at the Wall. We had some good times together in the marriage bed, didn't we wife?"

Daenerys felt her hands tighten around Jon's in her rage, and she felt him grip her back just as strongly. Aegon closed his eyes, tilting his head up into the noonday sunlight.

"Ahh, I can still recall our last night together, a feast for the birth of my second son, you'd gotten so drunk on wine that night I'd been able to convince you to join Margaery, Arianne, and I in the royal chambers-"

"Shut your mouth Aegon." Daenerys snarled at him. Jon snatched her attention back to him quickly. He wasn't paying attention to Aegon anymore. His open, grey eyes held not a hint of judgement, and they spoke to her:

 _Don't mind him. I couldn't care less. I want_ you.

She wanted to kiss him right there.

Aegon continued his tale in the background, a stage-voice of mournfulness in his tone. "And after she left my bed, she found herself with Old Man Jorah, her guardian from childhood returned to faithfully serve his queen by trying to pump a baby into her womb. Of course, his old heart gave out soon enough. Couldn't keep up with his sinful lust, you see."

Daenerys dropped her hands from Jon's and launched herself at Aegon. Jon's strong arms latched onto her shoulders and held her solidly back. A feral scream tore through the air, and for a few seconds she didn't recognize it as her own.

Aegon's fake sorrow dropped to reveal a malicious grin, somehow twisted further by how beautiful the expression was on his delicate face. "And yet, between the Old Bear and I, so few seeds caught in auntie's belly. And the few that did- well, let's say they just had a hard time… staying."

And all of Daenerys' rage, all her righteous fury at her tormentative King, evaporated into raw pain. The deep, deep despair of that which plagued her her whole life. The memory of all the agony, all the blood.

 _When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east_

The babies.

 _When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves_

Oh gods, the babies.

Daenerys' body racked with a sob, she collapsed onto her knees into the warm surface of the weirwood stump. She gasped in pain. Why had she fallen? Where was Jon?

The clash of steel on steel awoke her.

Daenerys looked up to see the horror, brother against brother, whirling Valyrian steel twisting and turning in their deadly dance.

"No! _**Stop this madness!**_ " she screamed, pleading onto deaf ears.

Her nephews sought blood. Targaryen blood, blood of the dragon. The ultimate strength and fatal weakness of their family.

She saw their faces, Aegon's a rictus cocktail of emotions, rage, pain, fear, excitement. Love. Hate. He looked the part of a Dragonlord, a Targaryen King in all his greatness and madness both.

But it was Jon who scared her.

His face had no emotion. His Stark features were carved not in stone but crafted of ice. His mouth a grim slash, and his cold grey eyes saw only death. This was the face he had worn into battle against the Long Night. The face that the Night King saw before it's destruction. The face of the Last Hero.

Ghost slunk around the edges of the wild duel, watching with blood-red eyes as Jon and Aegon charged and parted, swung and ducked, danced to and fro, lifeblood spraying the immaculate white weirwood with splashes of red from Valyrian steel making thin flesh wounds- cutting through skin and meat like it was silk. The great direwolf was a reflection of his partner, silent as the grave despite the carnage, waiting for a moment where he could pounce and tear Aegon to shreds.

Daenerys had to prevent that. A wolf had no place between warring dragons.

"Go, Ghost, run!" she yelled and shoved at the massive white direwolf, smacking him on the nose when he refused to budge. Ghost let out a whimper and backed up to the treeline.

"I'm sorry boy, but I can't let you get hurt." she whispered to him.

The fight was coming to a close. Aegon was a talented swordsman, he bested Garlan Tyrell easily, the Rose Knight being considered one of the finest blades in the realm after the conclusion of the War of Five Kings. It was not all gifts either. The King worked his fingers to the bone training with his Kingsguard, waking at terrible hours to condition his body and his swordsmanship. All to be able to beat the comparisons between him and his brother.

And for all that Aegon was the greatest swordsman alive, it only amounted to holding against Jon for a minute or two, because Jon fought with inhuman speed and skill, borne of combat with inhuman foes.

Jaehaerys Targaryen. Jon Snow. The Blade in the Darkness, who has bested no knights nor won any tourneys, trading all that to instead train his sword by fighting White Walkers to the death.

He advanced, an unstoppable tide of steel, a storm made flesh. He battered away at Aegon until he could slam Blackfyre out of nerveless fingers, nicking the cheek of the King of Westeros in the counter-swing before kicking him right in the stomach and knocking him to the ground.

Daenerys saw Jon's impassive face curve into a frown, the point of Longclaw aimed at Aegon's throat as he wheezed air laying flat on his back on the white, blood-streaked stump.

"I apologize for attacking you, Your Grace, but it was foolish of you to provoke me like you had. Aye, and even more foolish to resist me like so. You are skilled enough that it was risky to disarm you. I could have grievously injured you, brother."

Aegon made no answer, busy as he was. Jon watched for a moment longer, before dropping the point of his sword and quickly making way to her.

"Dany, are you alright? I'm sorry I dropped you like that." the man had the gall to act embarrassed after what he just done before her eyes.

"Jon…" she whispered, throat hoarse from her screaming.

He leaned in closer to her, arms supporting her weight. "Yes, Daenerys?"

"Behind…" she gasped.

Jon whirled around to see Aegon crawling back up onto his feet, but he made no move to recover Blackfyre on the ground.

Aegon smiled at Jon, the same smile he had greeted him with.

"You are singularly impressive, Jaehaerys, my brother wolf. But you forget that we- that _you_ , are also a dragon, and dragons fight not with steel, but fire."

His face twisted from a smile into deep determination, and he shouted up into the air.

" **Rhaegal! Dracarys!** "

Daenerys managed to stand in that moment, bracing against Jon.

"No Aegon! **Drogon!** "

Both dragons answered the call, shrieking roars bellowing out of their maws in tandem. From circling in the sky, they dove straight down intertwined, biting and slashing at each other.

When they neared the ground, Rhaegal managed to slip free from his slightly larger brother, put enough space between them that he had time to open his great jaw and spew a wave of hot dragonfire towards the little clearing on the ground.

Daenerys looked in horror at Jon. There was no time to escape. He didn't have her immunity to fire, and even Aegon had enough blood of Old Valyria that he'd get out with only minor burns. Jon was fully vulnerable.

* * *

Aegon stared straight at his half-brother, unblinking, waiting with baited breath to see him either incinerated by flame… or not. Who knew with the legendary Azor Ahai? Aegon wouldn't miss a moment. This is what he'd be starving for. His brother. Family, true family, someone who shared with him a father. And a rival worthy of the Dragon King- who started out as a sailor's child who dyed his hair blue to hide from the world, and ended up sitting on the Iron Throne.

* * *

Daenerys felt the world slow as the heat of the dragonfire fell on them from above, even before the actual flame would wash the grove into ash, and Jon along with it. She looked at his face. Jon Snow, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the man she'd fallen in love with for the brief and bloody few years that was the War for the Dawn, and then lived secretly in her heart without even her knowing for fifteen years until that love reawoke today.

* * *

And Jon? Jon… felt exhausted. This whole ordeal was tiring. His Targaryen family had come by today and in less than an hour they've ruined the nice copse of trees he'd spent the last decade growing. They reopened old wounds and gashed apart new ones, physical and mental. And Daenerys wondered why he refused to come to King's Landing and live with an entire brood of dragonblood.

The True North had what he'd been chasing after his whole life. Peace. There he could sit, quietly, no longer needing to be a warrior. He could reflect on his past and think on his future. He could mourn. Ygritte, dead from the mistakes he made as a boy. Val, dead from the mistakes he made as a man. Sitting on his stump- though, it wasn't fully accurate to say he owned the stump, Jon finally had _time_. Time to contemplate life. It was a luxury he'd never had before.

Fifteen years was too short, but he supposed it was longer than he had expected, or deserved.

It could be that the peaceful, quiet life was just not meant for him. The Old Gods cursed him to always live in exciting times. It was a distinct possibility, given the family that he belonged to. Both Houses of it.

It wasn't as if the lands beyond the Wall would be lost to him forever. There would always be some peaceful woodlands he could retire to, whenever he needed a time of peace again. But for now...

Jon heaved a sigh. Back into the fray once more. It could be worse, he told himself.

I could be without a dragon.

"Viserion."

* * *

The world flipped on it's side. Daenerys saw the sun swing from directly above them to down by the horizon, and then as her body started slipping down what was suddenly an upwards slope, she realized that the sky was not moving but the ground beneath her feet was.

The weirwood stump they all stood on tilted up at an angle, and Daenerys saw the edges of the clearing in the woods crack in a circular chasm all around them.

The ground was breaking. What was this? Some kind of massive cataclysmic earthquake?

The wind started howling, but it was a noise she'd never heard it make before. Daenerys felt the rumbling of the sound shaking her every bone and organ. She couldn't hear anything.

She caught a glimpse of Ghost dashing deeper into the woods, moving away from the epicenter of the disaster. The direwolf had the smart idea. The humans on the other hand, were right on top the center of action.

The weirwood stump tilted up even more, and both she and Aegon where forced to climb up and grab hold of it's edge- which was quickly becoming a _ledge_. She looked behind her, and saw Jon sinking Longclaw into the wooden surface of the stump, then grabbing hold of the handle with both hands and bending his knees as if bracing.

For what? He grinned at her. He shouted something that was lost over that gods-awful noise. "...-dy! Ge-..." was all she caught.

What was making that noise? It couldn't be wind. Not even storms were this loud.

 _Then the ground shot straight up._

They ascended at breakneck speed, faster than she'd ever flown upwards on Drogon's back ever before. She and King Aegon both watched Jon grin and howl like a wolf, holding onto the handle of Longclaw in one hand, other arm waving in the air.

'He's insane' mouthed Aegon. Daenerys found herself in agreement.

Just as sudden as their climb started and was, it came to an abrupt halt. The noise had finally stopped too. Her eardrums still rang quite a bit. They had not climbed too high, the canopy of the trees was not too far below them.

But why would the _earth_ go straight up like that? Daenerys climbed up a bit more, and peered down below them, hanging as she was from the edge of the weirwood stump. They seemed to be at the tip of what looked like a curved pillar of rock and dirt, and they weren't the only one. There was another, similarly shaped pillar next to them, reaching much higher and tapering out near the end.

What was worrisome was how the pillar was trembling, rock, sleet, snow, and tree debris falling off in great clumps of earth.

Then, suddenly, a piece of the upraised earth in front of Daenerys split open into two pieces, and the pillars of earth gave not a tremble but a _shake,_ the way an animal shakes off water, and the great wave of sound that was that noise covered her body again.

All the dirt and stone and ice sloughed off but instead of them falling back to the ground, it revealed what they stood atop of. The great white body of a scaled beast. The earth before her split in two because it was a snout, and that noise was not the wind, it was a roar.

A dragon's roar. _Viserion._

The white dragon pulled more of it's immense bulk out of the ground, shaking off even more rock and snow as it did.

"Viserion!" Daenerys screamed. " _ **Viserion, my son!**_ "

The dragon roared again, but Daenerys could not tell for the life of her if the dragon recognized or even heard her. She turned around and looked behind them, and saw the white expanse of cream and snow colored scales, more and more being wrenched free from the what looked like a massively large cave system.

The mouth of which was plugged up by loose dirt and snow, and Viserion's gargantuan head.

 _And his horn. The whole time, they were sitting on the stump of Viserion's chopped off horn._

With a final roar of triumph and a shake all over his titanic body, Viserion pulled his tail free from the cave he had been resting in. From the vantage point atop his head, Daenerys could see the full extent of her wayward son's body, and the sheer scale of it boggled her mind.

The White Dragon was nowhere near 'half again as large' as Balerion the Black Dread. He was easily three times, probably four or five times larger.

She looked forwards again, and saw Rhaegal and Drogon circling in the air before Viserion. She sensed panic and confusion in both of her sons. It made sense, they were both now roughly the same size as a their third brother's head.

The dirt finally cleared from his head, Viserion could rotate his great golden eyes up to meet Daenerys' purple ones, and the recognition that sparked in the lizard-like pupils of the beast warmed her heart. Her heart also dropped into her stomach when she realized Viserion was now as big as a castle.

She turned to her fellow castle-riding companions. Aegon had turned pale as Ghost. Jon was grinning like a loon. She felt a sudden sense of role reversal. Jon waved them both down the horn into the space between it and the unbroken one. He helped ease her gently into a comfortable divot between two great white scales.

"What did you feed him!?" Daenerys yelled over the whipping wind.

"I told you, the True North is good for great beasts. The Old magic is strong." Jon thumped the white surface they were seated next to. "This thing helps too. I had Bran help me whip it up after the Great Other cut through the horn."

Daenerys touched the alabaster surface. It was wood, not the bone texture of a dragon's forward horns. She leaned over the side and saw, and finally understood. The weirwood stump's roots were wrapped around the base of the actual horn, acting as a strange sort of cap over the injury.

Jon noticed her revelation and nodded a confirmation. "Its to help Viserion recover from the Great Other's cold magic. Something about the leftover magic in the wound, the True North, and the weirwood worked together to make Viserion grow to this size. Eventually it'll finish it's job and fall off. Or it'll grow into a nice weirwood horn for Viserion. I forgot which one."

Jon Snow was the maddest Targaryen out of all of them, Daenerys reaffirmed to herself. No other man could be the Prince That Was Promised.

Aegon simply shook his head in disbelief. "Why didn't you just have him swallow me whole the second I set foot on his head?"

Jon smiled a very small, but genuine smile. "You and Dany are right. I've been a bad brother, and a terrible uncle. It's time for me to go meet my family, and try to make amends."

Aegon shook again. "I don't believe it. You would just up and come back, after fifteen years in self-exile?"

Jon regarded him with a more classically grim expression. "You're right to be skeptical, brother. I do have conditions. And even then I'm liable to simply return North again before long."

"Name them."

"You treated Daenerys awfully. When we return, you must publicly apologize to her." Daenerys was astonished by how fast Aegon nodded his assent. He must be hungrier for his brother's return than she had realized. "Secondly, you're going to annul your marriage to her. There's no reason for you to stick together when you both want different consorts than each other. I admit the lords will grumble about a King and Queen not married to each other, but we have Viserion."

Aegon once again agreed readily. Jon was not done. "You'll let me have free reign with her for a year, maybe two."

Daenerys reached up and pinched at his arm. Aegon guffawed. Here they were, the three of them all past thirty years, acting like children playing out legends of old. And she blushing about Jon's desire for her as if she was ten and five again.

"You two are are truly Targaryens, mind and body, all right. I meant I'm going to take Daenerys around to greenseers and Children of the Forest. See if Green magic or Old Ways can help restore her."

Aegon nodded again. "You may as well. If you succeed, then our House is greatly strengthened in blood. If you fail, it's not like the maesters did any better. But if Daenerys does prove infertile with no hope of cure, you will also have to do your duty and continue our line."

Jon pursed his lips. "I'd sooner dive down Viserion's gullet."

Aegon grinned his kingly smile. "We can have this discussion later, mayhaps I'll better convince you at King's Landing, when I've got you surrounded by beauties from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. What other royal demands are you going to make?"

"Just the one left. If I teach you how to fight, you'll wield Blackfyre by my side if the Others return with winter." Jon's tone and expression brooked no argument. Aegon agreed, his countenance as serious as Daenerys had ever seen him.

"Then, we'll be on our way?" she turned and asked Jon.

"Yes, we will." he closed his eyes in a moment of focus, hand brushing against the top of Viserion's skull. They snapped open again after a few seconds, and he had another small, joyful smile on his face.

"I think we'll even make it in time for Rhaenyra's birthing." And in the great shadow that was the spreading of Viserion's mighty wings, Daenerys leaned over and kissed Jon Snow.

Finally.

It only took nearly eighteen years.


End file.
